greenstorm | Winter

Winter is a foot of fluffy down duvet over me as I sleep, and the air in the room crispy in the morning.

It's hard to get out of bed lately; unusual for me.

I need to buy some things, q-tips, castille soap. I keep forgetting.

I should go to work via the Drive this morning and stock up on samosas.

There is a chance I'll go biking this evening. It's the weather for it; there's something about fall and biking.

I'm really impatient with doing-things-with-people lately. My rats are good companions. Caramel spent yesterday evening curled up in my armpit while I hung out with mom and brother.

I really miss real food. I should make a soup or something. It's the season. I keep talking about this sort of thing, and never do it.

I hope my Black Krims ripen. They're halfway there, tawny, and the size of dinnerplates. Well, big saucers. Definitely one-slice-per-BLT.

Wait, Sweet Cherubim won't be open.

Fah.

Need a good beating.